


i know we belong

by nerdytardis



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/pseuds/nerdytardis
Summary: Napoleon has to face some old fears, Illya holds a lot of hands, and no one actually eats the famous Bolognese.





	i know we belong

**Author's Note:**

> i will always be such trash for domestic fluff and there's so little for these guys.......so i went for it  
> title is from "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds
> 
> sorry for any mistakes and i hope you enjoy!

“Hey, Dad?”

Glancing over his shoulder, Napoleon hummed to the teenager pulling a seat up at the kitchen island. 

“What is it?” He asked, stirring the pasta sauce a few more times. 

“I have this assignment for school,” Sophia said, looking over her notebook and squinting at her notes, “And I’m supposed to interview you I guess?”

“You guess?”

“Yeah, it’s has to do with the book we’re reading in my Advanced Lit. class.  It’s all about perspectives and life stories and stuff, so we’re supposed to learn about someone’s life,” She shrugged and picked up her pen, “and you were here so…”

Napoleon chuckled.  “I’m flattered.”  Turning down the stove to let the sauce simmer, he rested his arms on the counter between them and leaned towards her work.  He smiled quietly at the scrawled notes hidden among her doodles. 

Even though Illya always explained its impossibility, Napoleon liked to think that she inherited his artistic inclination—and Illya’s impossible handwriting.  “What kind of stuff do you want to know?”

Sophia chewed the end of her pen, a bad habit she picked up when she stopped biting her nails, “We have this list of suggested questions, but they’re all really boring, so I was going to just make some up.” 

“Sounds like my kind of plan.” Napoleon smiled at her, and settled more comfortably against the counter, “Ask away.”

“Okay,” Sophia flipped to a fresh page.  After thinking for a moment, she marked a number one on her paper, and looked up.  “What was your favorite story, when you were younger?”

Napoleon leaned back a little, looking at her with a bemused smile.  “Starting off strong.” He said, good-naturedly. 

She shrugged and pushed some hair behind her ear, “I want my project to be actually interesting; better than all that ‘my sister’s favorite movie is the Notebook’ stuff other people are going to do.” 

“I know,” Napoleon said, smiling, “You’ve always made your own way.” 

“Jeeze Dad,” Shooting him a look, she wasn’t quiet able to hide her smile, “That was really unnecessary.” 

The oven timer beeped at them, pulling Napoleon back to the stove-top.  He continued making dinner, and finally answered her question over his shoulder. 

“My favorite story…” he started, letting the concept roll around his head for a minute.  “Well, I always liked _Heathers_.” 

Sophia snorted. 

“What?  It’s a great movie.”

Sophia just shook her head, smiling at him.  “That’s not what I meant.  Didn’t you have a favorite bedtime story when you were a kid?”

Napoleon made a noise of understanding, then looked around for a moment, trying to find an answer. 

“The nanny wasn’t really into bedtime stories.”  He finally said, feeling his daughter still behind him.  Realizing how sad that must have sounded, he quickly added, “But I read every Nancy Drew book I could get my hands on.”

He went back to dicing herbs as a silence fell on the room, Sophia’s thoughtful gaze centered heavily on his back. 

“Nancy Drew huh?” she said, her voice quieter than it had been, but still in its usual joking cadence, thankfully. 

 “Yeah.” He said, letting out a breath. 

There was nothing he hated more than having to talk about his pathetic childhood around her.  It always ended with nothing but sad looks for the rest of the day, and the absolute last thing he wanted was to ruin his own daughter’s good mood. 

“What’s the next question?” he asked, moving his cooking things to the island so he didn’t need to turn his back to her anymore. 

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“Okay, this one is easy.”  Napoleon smiled, “I wanted to be an astronaut.” 

Sophia paused and looked up from her writing with surprise, “Really?  Not an artist?”

“Yeah,” he nodded at her surprised expression, “I always loved art, but what I was a kid…I had those glow in the dark stars on my ceiling, tons of books on space, an insanely expensive telescope, every season of the X-Files on VHS,” Sophia laughed, “The whole nine-yards.” 

“Wait,” Sophia giggled, “Did you have a space-suit costume?”

Napoleon sighed dramatically, “It was not fashionable enough, I’m afraid.  That’s where my mother drew the line.” 

“That’s awesome Dad.” Sophia said, jotting down a bunch of lines. 

Putting down his spoon, Napoleon looked thoughtfully towards the ceiling, “I wish I knew what happened to my Colombia model, I spent hours on that thing.  It had to be perfect before I could hang it up.”

“So you’ve always been an insane perfectionist?” Sophia arched an eyebrow at him, looking too much like her Aunt Gaby as she did. 

“Hey,” Napoleon picked up the spoon again and pointed it at her, “What’s so bad about wanting things done right?”

“Don’t you remember the Christmas decorating fiasco of 2012?”

“Now,” Napoleon went to respond, as Sophia just rolled her eyes, “You and I both know that those off-center lights looked terrible, it’s not my fault if Illya couldn’t see that.”

“Moving on,” She said, giving him a pointed look, “What was your first job?”

Napoleon checked on the pasta sauce, and said, “Would you believe me if I said I delivered papers around the block on my bicycle?”

“Never in a million years.” 

“Okay, well in that case, my first job was when I enlisted.”

“Oh,” Sophia wrote that down, then chewed the end of her pen a little, “Was that scary?  Joining the army, I mean.” 

“I guess,” he said, watching her out of the corner of his eye, “But mostly I was just glad to be getting away, doing something for myself.” 

 _Another topic they didn’t normally talk about_ , he thought, opening the fridge to retrieve the lettuce.  “Soph,” he started, turning to her, “You can just ask me questions, without a project or anything as pretense; you know that right?” 

Staring at him for a moment, Sophia blinked and said, “I know.” 

“Okay.” Napoleon watched her as she ducked back down to her notes.

After a beat, she stopped writing, obviously thinking over what she was going to say, “Though…it might be nice for you guys to, I don’t know,” she looked away again, playing with the end of her hair, “talk about your lives a little more, sometimes.” 

Dinner pushed to the back of his mind, Napoleon leaned across the counter so he could look directly at her, “Sophia,” She looked up and met his gaze, “Is there something going on?” 

“It’s-” Napoleon waited patiently as she looked away, fiddling with the corner of her notebook now, “This project…I’ve just been thinking about how much I don’t know.” 

“Like, I know about when you were a kid, how your parents were rich and distant.  And you met Papa when you were still in the army.  But like, that’s it.  You—both of you—never tell stories about before you moved here, and there’s no old stuff around the house.”

Napoleon felt his chest tighten.  Over the years, he and Illya had done everything they could to protect Sophia from that shadowy world, the violence that had created who they are. 

But he had always known their daughter was too smart to keep it hidden forever. 

“Sometimes, it feels like you didn’t even have a life before you adopted me,” She continued, “and I’m just tired of not having any kind of family history.  I’m going to be leaving for college soon, and I still don’t even know where Papa got his scar, or,” She looked around for a moment, as if making her mind up, “or why you always check every lock in the house twice whenever we get home.”

Reaching forward, Napoleon covered her hand in his larger one, “We just want to protect you.”

Sophia looked up sharply at that, her brows coming together in confusion.

“When you were little, we didn’t really want to talk about all the stuff we had to go through since you had already been through so much.” Napoleon said softly, watching his daughter very closely. 

Sophia looked away, “I was practically a baby Dad; you know I don’t remember any of that.” 

“We wanted to make you happy, and we…we wanted a new life for ourselves too.”  Napoleon paused, looking past her at the family photo on the wall, “But that was a long time ago.” 

“You’re making this all sound really dark.” Sophia said, staring wide-eyed at him. 

“It’s really not—” Napoleon started to say, thinking better of the lie, “We just lived very…different lives before we decided to settle down.  It’s hard to explain.” 

“Okay.” Sophia said still staring at him. 

“We’ll talk about all of it when Papa gets home, okay?  As a family.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”  She was smiling again now, but the tight coil in Napoleon’s chest remained.  He wanted to keep his promise, to do anything in his power to make her happy, but— What if, once she knew everything, she never wanted to see them again?  Or hated them?  Became terrified of them? 

Napoleon could remember when Sophia was still small; when she would cling to Illya’s shirt and refuse to be put down; when he had been so scared that he would screw this up, maybe even turn into his own parents. 

But what if he became something worse? 

The truth about who he had been had the power to sour the happiness he had worked so hard for.  He would lose Sophia’s trust, and then inevitably Illya’s. 

Then he would have nothing. 

The sound of the door opening pulled Napoleon sharply back into the present.  Illya walked in, smiling as he put down his work bag and started pulling off his heavy boots. 

“How was school today?” He asked, putting his things away in the front closet.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Sophia said, giving him one of her toothy smiles. 

Her words came out quick and uninterested; she obviously wanted to get right into the answers, not that Napoleon could blame her, even if his heart did speed up a little. 

“And how about you?” Illya asked, walking up to give Napoleon a kiss.

“Work was fine.” Napoleon his smile feeling strained even to himself. 

Illya stopped, his hands resting on Napoleon’s sides and looked at him with furrowed, concerned brows.  He stepped back and looked between the two of them, confused. 

“What has happened?”

Looking to Napoleon, Sophia nodded, and gave him a small, encouraging smile. 

“Soph wants to know about—” Napoleon found himself at a loss for what to even call their past lives and faltered for a moment, a pause that Sophia took as a sign to take over. 

“I want to know about who you were before I came along.” She looked between her parents, her curiosity and resolve evident in every movement. “I love you guys, and I’m tired of not knowing anything about your past.”

Staring at her for a beat, Illya turned, shocked, to Napoleon who just nodded.  “She is right after all.  She deserves to know more.”

Illya took this all in without a word.  Napoleon’s stomach clenched with nerves. 

Finally, Illya looked between them both one more time and said, “It is a certainly interesting story, one I am sure you will find very surprising.” Sophia sat up and grinned.  “Why don’t you set the table and we will answer all your questions over dinner.”

Now Sophia was bouncing around the kitchen, pulling down plates faster than she probably should have.   

Napoleon blinked for a moment, looking at Illya, bewildered. 

Taking Napoleon’s hand in his and intertwining their fingers, Illya sighed and said, “We were not going to be able to hide the truth forever, there is too much missing in our lives for her to not see.”

“But, what if—”

“We have come so far, and built a beautiful family,” Illya squeezed Napoleon’s hand, “There is enough love in this house to withstand any old story.” 

The tension that had been resting in Napoleon’s chest began to unravel.  Illya, his rock in all things, was here.  Everything would be fine.   

“Okay.” He took a breath and smiled at Illya, “Thank you.”

“You always doubt yourself, but you are amazing at this,” Illya said, knowing all too well the depths of Napoleon’s fears, “Trust me.”

“The table is set.” Sophia said cheerily, taking her seat and looked at them expectantly. 

Illya laughed at her eagerness.  Giving Napoleon’s hand one more reassuring squeeze, he stepped away and started carrying food over to the table. 

Once they had all taken up their usual seats, the familiarity of the situation calming Napoleon a little, Sophia started to spoon food onto her plate.  But the grin she was barely containing showed where her thoughts truly were.

“Okay,” Illya took the lead, knowing that Napoleon was still probably warming up to the idea of the entire thing, “I am sure there is something you have been dying to ask.”

Her food forgotten in an instant, Sophia leaned forward on her elbows and asked, “How did you and Dad meet?”

Napoleon sighed and shook his head.  “Of course.”

“Ominous.” She said conspiratorially.  Looking at him, she rested her head on her hands, making Napoleon chuckle. 

“Why don’t you make some popcorn while you’re at it?”

“And ruin my appetite before your famous Bolognese?”

“Complimenting my cooking,” Napoleon said running a nervous hand through his hair, “you know just how to make me talk.”  Sophia snorted at that, but still watched them, patiently waiting for an answer. 

“I met the Red Peril,” Napoleon started, looking fondly at Illya as Sophia rolled her eyes, “when I was working for the CIA in the Mediterranean.” 

Sophia sat up a little.  “The CIA?  I thought you were in the army?” 

“I was, for a while.” Napoleon said, his mind spinning backwards, “I was just an enlisted kid, with no idea what I was doing.  When I got deployed again, I had already seen so much combat that I-” He sighed a little, and Illya put a steady hand on his knee. 

Watching him closely now, Sophia’s brows had come together in concern. In an attempt to just get his daughter smiling again, Napoleon kept talking.

“When my second tour was up, I stayed overseas.  They started training me for a stealth unit, but…I was done with the army.  I didn’t want to come home again and have to deal with my parents, but I wasn’t going to fight in that desert anymore either.  Instead, I used what money and skills I had to start making a career for myself.”

“Doing what?”

Napoleon met her gaze, “This was a very long time ago and I’m not proud of it.”

Illya let out a bark of laughter, making Napoleon shoot him a look.  Shaking his head, Illya said, “Do not lie, you were very proud of yourself.”

Looking between them with a confused smile, Sophia asked, “What in the world were you doing?”

“Well.  I became a thief.”

Sofia blinked a little.  “What?”

Looking away, Napoleon bit his lip, ashamed of what he was about say, “I got started selling pieces from museums on the black market.  As a part of the occupying force, it was all too easy.”

A quiet descended on them, as Illya turned to watch him and Sophia let out a quiet, “Oh.”

There was another beat, as Napoleon searched for a way to explain.  But, in the end, Illya got there first. 

“You forget to mention the fact that you were barely more than twenty, on your own for the first time in your life, and recovering from the shock of war.”

Napoleon met Illya’s gaze.  

“And that you spent most of your years afterwards stealing from the collections of rich people, who, in your own words, ‘could never appreciate the real beauty of the art.’”

Finally pulling away from Illya’s compassionate look, Napoleon saw that Sophia was smiling a little at him.  “Like Indiana Jones?”

“Ah!” Illya exclaimed, “That is what I said.”

It was something he had said years ago, when they were drunk and lying on the floor of their hotel room watching bad reality shows.  Out of the blue Illya had decided that Napoleon was some kind of reincarnation of Harrison Ford. 

The memory made Napoleon break into a real grin, one of the ones that make his whole face crinkle

“I had forgotten all about that.” He said, taking Illya’s hand. 

Illya smirked, “You were very drunk.”

Sophia’s laughed a little, as she pointed at both of them, “Okay that’s another story to come back to, but I still haven’t heard how you guys met, which I have wanted to know literally forever.” 

“Okay, okay.” Napoleon said, finally starting to feel comfortable again, as the bright sparkle of his family’s laughter cut through his tension.  “I moved away from the heat and sand, and started clearing out collections across Europe.”

There was pure curiosity, not fear, in Sophia’s eyes as she asked, “You didn’t give it up?”

“It was the first time I was successful doing something other than fighting in that war.” He shrugged, “I was good at it.”

Huffing a little, Illya gave him a look.  “It is not like you to understate your abilities Cowboy.”

“It seems like Papa is the one who really knows what was going on.”

“I like the sound of that.” Illya pointed to Sophia with his fork before stabbing a mouth full of lettuce. 

Napoleon put his hands up in surrender, “Okay okay, I was _really_ good at it.  I was one of the best in the world.”

Sophia’s mouth dropped open a little.  “Really?”

Illya pulled out his phone and started typing, “You have no idea.”

Letting out an over dramatic groan, Napoleon shook his head, “Illya, it’s really not that funny—”

“It is hilarious.” Illya said, like it was a fact, and held out his phone to Sophia.  She took it excitedly and snorted as soon as she read the first line. 

“Has Waterloo struck again?” She read aloud, looking at them both incredulously, “The now infamous art thief, known to the public as Napoleon-” She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“No one would believe that it was my real name, so I thought I might as well go with it.”

She turned back to the phone and kept reading, “-has been caught in connection to a _multi-million dollar_ spree of art-heists— _Holy shit Dad_.”

Napoleon couldn’t help but laugh at the awestruck look on Sophia’s face. 

“Like I said, I was really good at stealing stuff.” He shrugged. 

Sophia kept scrolling, stunned.  “How have I never heard about this before?” 

“Interpol kept my identity hidden in return for my cooperation, and most people don’t really pay attention to art thieves anyway.” 

Already grinning, Sophia let out a laugh when she reached the end.  Illya, who had always thought it was hilarious, chuckled too as he looked sideways at Napoleon. 

He let out a sigh, already knowing what was coming. 

“You really got caught in Belgium?” She asked, giggling. 

“It was an unfortunate coincidence.”

“You’re right, that is hilarious.” Sophia said, handing Illya his phone back. 

“Not that I don’t love talking about myself,” Napoleon looked pointedly at Illya, “How about we learn about your half of the story?”

Illya huffed, rolling his eyes, and said, “Okay, Cowboy.” Turning to Napoleon, he asked “Where should I start?”

He started to reply when Sophia cut in.

“Where did you get your scar?”

They both turned to her, Illya looking caught off-guard for the first time tonight. 

“I’m sorry if it’s going to bring the mood down, but,” Sophia looked down at her untouched food for a moment, “I’ve always wondered about it.”

“Um,” Illya’s hand went to his father’s watch on instinct, his fingers running over the worn leather band.  Reaching forward, Napoleon pulled his fingers free and twined them together with his own.  The silent show of affection giving Illya the push to finally say, “It was after my father went to prison.”

Sophia said nothing, just waited, quiet and serious now. Napoleon could see her courage, and love for them, shining through as she carefully waited for Illya to continue.

“It was just my mother and me,” he said, “and the neighbors had turned vindictive.  No one had trusted my father, the government official who tried to live with the people, and when he was arrested for embezzlement, they saw it as a final straw.”

These memories had not been dredged up in a long time, but Illya was talking clearly, his hand steady in Napoleon’s grasp.  The realization of how far Illya had come made Napoleon’s heart swell. 

“We had to move, to avoid the talk, but did not have much money anymore.  We ended up in a not-so-great part of Moscow.  One of the other kids from the building said something nasty about my mother, and, well, I defended her honor,” Illya said, gesturing to the scar, “and ended up with many stiches.”

“Did you ever get to see your Dad?” Sophia’s voice was quiet now. 

“He died in prison when I was twelve.”

Sophia’s face was unreadable for a moment.  Biting her lip, something new crossed her features, a look Napoleon could recognize anywhere.  She was about to say something, even though she was unsure of the consequences, a state that he was all too familiar with.

“Is your- is my grandmother still alive?”

They both stared at her. 

“She lives in a little apartment in Kiev, though I have not gotten to see her in many years.” Napoleon squeezed his hand, knowing how the separation had torn at him. 

“Could I meet her?  I would really like to.”

Gasping a little, Illya blinked across the table at her.  Napoleon could see that he was fighting back a surprising spring of tears. 

Nodding, Illya smile was a disbelieving grin of joy.  “I cannot say how happy that would make me.”

Sophia’s matching grin met her father’s, and Napoleon’s heart fluttered.  He felt like he might burst, his love for these two people so strong within him. 

“Okay.” Sophia said.

“Okay.” Illya echoed, his accent heavy from the emotions clogging his throat. 

Napoleon waited another moment, giving Illya enough time to take it all in, before saying gently, “We still haven’t even answered her first question.”

Laughing, Illya rubbed at his eyes.  “You go right ahead Cowboy.”

The room seemed lighter, brighter now, and Napoleon found that the words came easier, a happy flow of long-faded memory. 

“When I got caught, I was sentenced to 15 years, but the CIA, well specifically this one turkey named Sanders, came and offered me a deal.  I ended up working for them for the next ten years and eventually meeting,” He turned his gaze to Illya, who chuckled, as Sophia watched them with her own shining smile, “the most infuriating Russian intelligence agent in the whole agency.” 

Now that they had finally reached the part she had been waiting for, Sophia leaned in some more. 

“Were you guys working together?  Is that how you met?”

Napoleon moved his head from side to side, “That’s what happened…eventually.  At first, I was just trying to get my contact out of Berlin without getting caught by the Russian giant that was chasing us through the streets.”

“Here I was,” Napoleon spread his hands dramatically, “Talking to the contact—”

“And that contact would just so happen to be…?” Illya asked, pointedly. 

“Oh yeah.” Napoleon hadn’t even thought about this.  Sophia’s gaze flitted between them until Napoleon finally ended the anticipation. 

“Your aunt Gaby was—”

“ _What?!_ ” Sophia gaped at them. 

Napoleon nodded, laughing at her expression, and continued, “She was the best hacker in Europe at the time, and the only person with the skills we needed.”

“According to her, she’s still the best.” Illya added, taking a bite of his now-cold dinner. 

“She probably is.”

Sophia, who had been watching this entire exchange frozen in surprise, finally closed her mouth.  Shaking her head, she whistled a little. 

“I can’t believe this.” She said, “I used to think you guys were boring.”

Scoffing, Napoleon made an exaggerated expression of hurt, “Boring?”

“Dad, I’m sorry to say this, but art galleries aren’t always the most interesting thing on the planet when you’re five.” She said, “Nowhere near as cool as being a _literal spy_.”

“I don’t know about that—” Sophia gave him a look, and Napoleon sighed, “Okay, fine.”

Illya, dragging the story back on track yet again, said, “I was to stop the Americans from getting her help.  I did not succeed.”

“But you made quite a first impression,” Napoleon teased, “You ripped the back off of my car.”

Sophia coughed into her water.  “What?”

Resting his head on his hand, Napoleon batted his eye lashes a little, “I think that’s when I first fell in love.”

Illya rolled his eyes, and continued, “We were _forced_ to work together,” Napoleon snorted, “And _against all odds_ made a pretty good team.  By the time Waverly showed up—”

Sophia threw her hands up in the air.  “This is unbelievable.  Literally my entire family met on a top secret mission.”

Laughing, Napoleon finished the story.  “We became a permanent team, and, things just kinda, happened from there.” He shrugged and smiled at Illya. 

So much had changed since then; so much good had come into his life.  He almost couldn’t believe it, looking back over the years, how he managed to find such joy.  There was a time when it would have seemed impossible.

“Wow.” Sophia said, a small, shocked, smile gracing her lips.

“Are you sure you’re okay with all this Soph?” Napoleon put a hand on her shoulder, “I know this is a lot to take in.”

She nodded seriously, and said, “It makes so much sense.  All your weird habits and protectiveness, the stuff that used to annoy me so much—I get it now.”

Something settled in Napoleon, the reassurance in her face calming his last nerve.

“I get that it was all really dangerous, and,” she looked at them both, “not nearly as fun and easy as you’re trying to make it sound.  But—” Her wide eyes were full of curiosity, and excitement, “I want to know more.”

Napoleon looked to Illya, their eyes meeting; the spark in Illya’s gaze answering Napoleon’s unspoken question.

“Okay.” He said, and Sophia clapped a little, “What’s your next question?”

\-- -- -- --

_“My, my—”_

Napoleon’s head landed on his desk with a loud thump.  “If I have to hear this song one more time, I’m moving out.”

Sophia stuck out her tongue at him and started singing along again. 

_“At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender!”_

From across the chess board Illya joined in with her, very off-key, with a smirk. 

Groaning, Napoleon picked up his things so he could move into the kitchen, where the song would at least be muffled. 

“I got an A on my project by the way.” Sophia said over her shoulder as she moved her knight forward, “Even when I made up most of the details.”

“I’m proud of you honey, but right now, I honestly can’t say it was worth the cost.”

Illya’s smirk deepened at his dramatics.  “It is your CD Napoleon.”

“Well, when I bought it, I never thought that it could be weaponized against me.” 

Sophia and Illya’s laugh echoed after him as Napoleon quickly stalked out. 

He didn’t want either of them to see his own blinding grin. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
> that song at the end is "Waterloo" by ABBA because i just couldn't resist lmao
> 
> i kinda want to turn this into a series tbh, so stay tuned for any updates if your interested :)


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